The Secret Diary of Lucius Malfoy
by obsessmuch
Summary: The memoirs, musings and meanderings of Malfoy Senior, written during his final year as a free man. Read all about his evil scheming, the train crash that is his love life, and, most importantly, his image problems.
1. Chapter 1

Sunday 28th March, 1995-

Quite an alarming day. This damned tattoo that the Dark Lord insisted that all we Death-Eaters get has been burning all afternoon. Bella has been sending that useless woman (whoops, I mean my darling wife) letters, ranting and raving about how this irritation somehow signals 'the Dark Lord's return' and 'the second rise of evil'. Bella can be so tedious when she gets herself worked up. I have, despite Narcissa's protestations, burned the letters. I am sure that this searing, scorching pain is no more than an infection of some kind, and that it is only a coincidence that it seems to be affecting all us former Death-Eaters at once.

Friday 4th June 1995-

Bloody tattoo! One of my 'night-time visitors' asked me at a very crucial moment why I kept on wincing and gripping my arm. When I told her to get on her back and to stop asking damned foolish questions she got unreasonably angry, grabbed her clothes and walked out, making ridiculous declarations such as 'I am my own person', and 'I don't deserve to be treated like this'. Stupid girl.

If this tattoo is going to prevent me from getting laid then I really should consider Muggle laser surgery.

Thursday 24th June 1995-

Bugger. Bugger Bugger BUGGER!

The tattoo has actually burned black. It seems that Bella is not, in fact, completely mad but was telling the truth after all. Sigh. I'm going to have to dig out those damn ugly robes again. I have a face that reduces grown women to steaming puddles on the floor, and yet I am forced to cover it up with a hideous, ridiculous mask. Some might call the concealment of this visage a crime against humanity. I would certainly subscribe to that view.

Friday 25th June 1995-

Oh, how art the mighty fallen. The Dark Lord's plan to kill off 'The Boy Who Lived to Vex Me' went horribly awry when a small army of ghosts seemed to jump out of the end of his wand. Sometimes I do wonder why I choose to dedicate my life to a man who can't even dispose of a teenage boy.

The Dark Lord was practically spitting blood once Potter had managed to escape. I had to find him some muggles to maim, torture and murder in order to calm him down.

Saturday 3rd July 1995-

That worthless son of mine has returned home to ruin my summer yet again. He's full of excitement about the Dark Lord's return. He's being most indiscreet. I wouldn't be surprised if he made up badges reading 'My father's a fully paid up Death-Eater – arrest him at your own convenience'.

Draco asked me if he might have his 'girlfriend' over for dinner next Wednesday. I was ready to refuse, but Narcissa started to witter on about how 'sweet' it would be.

Sweet. Yes. Three hours of my life, wasted. Three hours of putting up with my idiotic son and his dippy girlfriend making eyes at each other at the dinner table, putting me off my food. Puppy love is unbearable in any situation, but even more so when played out over a soup course. Sweet. Hah!

Wednesday 7th July 1995-

A truly horrific evening.

When Draco's 'girlfriend' arrived for dinner, I was surprised to note that she was actually rather pretty. Patsy, I think her name was. Or was it Pansy? Anyway, I spent the entire dinner listening attentively to her quite frankly boring conversation, laughing at her jokes and continually plying her with wine, reminding myself that the end justifies the means.

When dinner had finished, the four of us retired to the parlour for coffee and mints, and she mentioned a certain book she has a wish to read. I informed her that I have the book in my library, and I offered to escort her there to show it to her. Once we were safely away from my wife and son, I decided to make my play. She declined my advances, however, squealing 'But you're so old, Mr. Malfoy.'

Old? Me? I'm forty… one. Anyway, the choosy little bitch was lucky to receive my attention. Such was my indignation that I momentarily froze, allowing her to make her escape. It was fortunate for her that she managed to get away, for nobody - _nobody _refuses a Malfoy.

Thursday 8th July 1995-

Is that a grey hair?

Friday 9th July 1995-

Having wasted an entire day in front of the mirror, looking closely for wrinkles, I have decided to abandon this absurd notion that I might be advancing in years.

Old? Pah!

Monday 16th August 1995-

Another Death-Eaters' meeting today. All we seem to do these days is sit around, talking about 'the second war' and playing cards. It's so tedious. Nothing exciting or even the tiniest bit evil is happening.

As the evening wore on, Macnair 'suggested' that we pass the time by playing spin the bottle. I found myself bullied into going along with it. The situation was made all the worse when I was forced to kiss Macnair, as the 'ladies' playing with us suggested that my initial refusal meant I was 'uncomfortable with my sexuality.'

Stupid, childish game. I'm going to have nightmares about Macnair's moustache for weeks.

Wednesday 1st September 1995-

Draco has finally gone back to school. I am most pleased – I had grown heartily sick of the brat hanging around, making the mansion look untidy. Narcissa performed her usual irritating ritual of crying her eyes out as our son got on to the train. I, on the other hand, performed my own usual ritual of secretly offering to pay him 100 Galleons in return for his not contacting us over the year. He, as usual, pretended to be distressed, but I know it to be a charade. If he is my son in any way, he will know that money is a wonderful substitute for affection. Did not my father teach me the exact same principle?

Thursday 10th October 1995-

Why oh why did I ever choose to become a Death-Eater? Absolutely nothing is happening – I expected to be murdering, raping and pillaging by now, and instead all I have to do is listen to the Dark Lord's ramblings about a 'prophecy'.

Macnair keeps on sidling up to me, no doubt wanting a repeat performance of the other night. I had to Crucio him in the end out of sheer annoyance.

Tuesday 29th October 1995-

Voldemort has asked me to attempt to get hold of a prophecy made about him and Potter. Apparently, the record of it is kept in the Department of Mysteries. When I pointed out to him that to pick it up would result in my going insane, he simply looked at me and said 'Why, so it would.'

If he expects me to give up my sanity just so that he can take over the world, he's got another thing coming. No, I shall just have to come up with something good. Something worthy of a Malfoy.

Friday 8th November 1995-

Bumped into Fudge today at the ministry. Stupid old fool – it takes all of my patience to put up with him for more than two minutes. He introduced me to a man named Bode, who has some kind of job in the Department of Mysteries. Boring man, smelt a bit like cabbage. Honestly, the people I have to deal with…

Hang on… I think I may have a plan!

Monday 2nd December 1995-

Followed Bode down into the Department of Mysteries today, and then cast the Imperius curse on him from behind. I watched from the shadows as he tried to pick up the prophecy, but as soon as he touched it he let go and fell to the floor, quacking and shouting something about his head being on back to front.

Damn stupid security measures, I don't have the time or the patience for this.

Friday 20th December 1995-

That dim-witted boy (Oh dear, I meant to say Draco) returned home for Christmas today, but to be honest I barely noticed as I was still celebrating the fact that Arthur Weasley has been severely wounded while guarding the prophecies at the Ministry. Unfortunately he was not killed in the process, though I am sure that his being there after hours will result in his sacking. Perhaps I should post Fudge a Christmas hamper, and pin a note to the boiled ham hinting that there will be much more where that came from were he to deprive Weasley of his office.

By Merlin, it's so much fun being evil!

Tuesday 24th December 1995-

There are so many presents for Draco and Narcissa under the small forest I call a Christmas tree in our Great Hall that I'm actually surprised at just how wealthy I remain. Whoever said money can't buy love? Those two drooling idiots would die for me, I am sure, and all I have to do is send the house-elves out with a shopping list and bags full of cash.

My Christmas cheer has been dampened, however, by the means I have had to use to dispose of Bode. I had it all worked out – Macnair was to go down to St. Mungo's dressed as an old crone and plant a Devil's Snare next to Bode's bed. However, he started to get all unreasonable and asked for 'payment' for his services. I offered him a considerable amount of money, but he responded to my generous offer by placing a gnarled hand on my arm and whispering 'Come on, Lucius, you know what I want from you.'

Feel very unclean due to the unspeakable things I had to do in order to get my way. However, it is a means to an end, is it not?

Hmm… I think a shower might be in order.

Wednesday 25th December 1995-

Hurrah for Christmas! I slipped a sleeping draught into my wife's wine and my son's pumpkin juice at dinner, and now that they're out for the count it leaves me free to spend my evening with my harem of gorgeous concubines without worry.

Merry Christmas to all!

Monday 13th January 1996-

Finally, something exciting has happened! About twenty Death-Eaters (including Bella) have escaped from prison, and the Dark Lord has decided to throw a huge, sexy party in celebration. I made sure that Narcissa came down with a sudden migraine and so shall be unable to attend. I don't want her cramping my style.

What am I going to _wear_?

Later

Fgor, blurry brilliant partay! The Dark shall triumfffff once more! Everyone sho nishe! Bella sho pretty and sexshay – insane, of coursh, but still. Oooops falls over

Tuesday 14th January 1996-

Oh Merlin – Where the hell am I?

Friday 17th January 1996-

Got so paralytic at the 'Welcome back' party that I ended up in bed with my wife's sister. Now things are really awkward whenever we see one another. She keeps on trying to get hold of me to discuss 'our relationship'. What with her _and_ Macnair both trailing after me, I can never get a moment's peace.

Thursday 4th June 1996-

The Dark Lord called round today. I wish he wouldn't do that. I don't know what the neighbours would say if they were to see a hairless, red eyed, reptilian man stalking into our mansion in a big, black cloak.

He spent about an hour flouncing around in my parlour, drinking all of my Port and shouting about how he's got something 'BIG' planned, which, of course, he wants me to be involved with. I just hope it's not like the last 'BIG' plan he had which required my participation – Dolohov and I had to dress up in a horse costume in order to infiltrate a horse show to dispose of a high-society witch. You don't know what pain is until you've felt Dolohov's hooked nose in your backside as you try to 'neigh' convincingly.

Wednesday 10th June 1996-

It is the last straw. It is the last bloody straw!

The Dark Lord wants me to lead a group of Death-Eaters into the Department of Mysteries and wait for Potter to pick up the Prophecy. He's going to play some kind of mind-game with Potter to make the boy believe that his God-father/cousin/sugar daddy is dying in the Ministry. Something like that anyway, I don't know, I wasn't really listening.

And get this… we have to wait there (in full Death-Eater garb, just for effect) in the vain hope that Potter might pick the bloody thing up. Then we have to somehow wrestle it off of him despite the fact that, as a baby, he managed to almost destroy the most powerful wizard in the world.

One of these days, I might just get sick of this and hand in my bloody notice, and then the Dark Lord would be sorry, oh wouldn't he just?

Thursday 18th June 1996-

Right. I'll just go and put on my robes and my mask, and then head off to the Ministry for my suicide mission (oh dear, a slip of the tongue. What I meant to say, of course, was head off to the Ministry for my great and honourable quest in the Dark Lord's name). Quite a large group is coming with me. I didn't want to ask either Bella or Macnair along, but both of them started to cling to my legs, screaming 'I'll go wherever you go!'

Why do people always insist on falling in love with me? It does so get boring after a while.

Friday 19th June 1996-

Right, that's it. It has all gone too far. The shit has, officially, hit the fan.

We went along to the Ministry, and we found ourselves confronted by Potter, the Weasel boy, a fat dwarf, a beaver whose hair gave the impression that she'd been struck by lightening, a blonde junkie, and a rather attractive, nubile little red-head. Somewhat understandably, I didn't think that this bunch of idiots could be any threat to us, and so they managed to catch me with my guard down and slip away. We had just about got them back under our control when the Order turned up with Dumbledore. Everything went downhill from there.

I am now writing this from prison. I think, if I ever get out, I might make quite a sizable amount of money by selling this Diary. 'An insider's account of Azkaban.'

Serving the Dark Lord proved to so not be worth it in the end.

Saturday 20th June 1996-

I have sent an owl to Narcissa with strict instructions as to how she is to conduct herself in my absence. She is to don some widow's weeds, and to lock herself away in the mansion, giving herself over to copious weeping. I have also sent a message to Draco, telling him that he must follow in my footsteps, and continue in the sacred Malfoy quest of ridding the world of Mudbloods and muggles, while at the same time retaining our famous air of mystery combined with stylish élan. I trust that they shall follow my commands to the letter… or else face my righteous anger.

Wednesday 24th June 1996-

I'm settling down quite well in here, actually. A rather violent inmate named 'Big Chaz' seems very intent on me getting hold of some 'stash' for him, but another inmate named Binky has promised to protect me in return for my becoming his 'bitch'. Not quite sure what that will entail, but he's promised that if I visit his cell later on he'll give me a demonstration.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N - **Okay, so I wrote a sort of prequel to the first one. This one takes place during COS. Hope you like it - took a short break from writing Eden to finally get this done.

* * *

8th July, 1992 –

A rather difficult situation emerged this evening. I invited Fudge round for my monthly schmoozing meal, and after dinner he took a wrong turn on the way to the bathroom and ended up in my muggle torture chamber. I had to think very quickly, but I managed to avoid a scandal by convincing the senile old fool that it was actually some sort of modern art collection.

The incident got me thinking, though. I really have too many items hanging around here that could severely damage my precious reputation if discovered, and most of them I rarely use, anyway. Take that iron-maiden that currently resides in the parlour. I haven't used it for at least a year, ever since that incident with the Muggle that came to the door attempting to sell me raffle tickets. Perhaps the time is ripe for a clear out.

20th July, 1992 –

Hmmm. In the middle of looking through my mountains of possessions, trying to decide which ones to get the house-elves to throw out, I found a box labelled 'The Dark Lord'. Rifled through it to find some chains, some bottles of muggle blood, a couple of cutlasses, some quite frankly disturbing photographs of him and Bellatrix on holiday together, and a tatty old book with 'Tom Marvolo Riddle's diary – Private, do not read!' written on the cover. Naturally, I flicked through it. It began entertainingly enough, with a most amusing page reading; 'Avery never notices me, the tricky bastard. I spent the entire evening snuggling up to Rudolphus in an attempt to get his attention, but he didn't even look at me. Perhaps I should try a new style. This floppy black hair is so not me, I don't think. Mr Tom Avery, Mr Avery, Tom Marvolo Avery.' Entertaining enough, certainly, but the subject matter went downhill from there as he started to ramble on about 'the chamber' and 'the one true heir' and 'the removal of muggles and filth'. I assume he was going off on another of his tedious rants. I have wiped the pages blank to save anyone else from similar boredom. And people accuse me of being devoid of compassion!

30th July, 1992 –

I invited Nott round for drinks this evening so that we might aid each-other in the concoction of our own individual evil plans. He told me all about his idea to seduce his wife's younger sister by means of the Imperius curse. I told him about my plan to palm the Dark Lord's diary off on one of the Hogwarts children. The evening went swimmingly, except I had to crucio that bloody house elf for serving me my Martini with an onion instead of an olive. I mean honestly, how hard is it to serve a dark-wizarding family for all eternity, really?

31st July, 1992 –

A slightly awkward situation arose this evening when I walked in on the house elf waxing his legs. I was quite prepared to ignore the situation, but he was muttering something about how 'Dobby must punish himself'. I really can't be bothered to discover what he's talking about, and even if I could I don't want to give myself nightmares about elf fetishes.

5th August, 1992 –

I spoke to Macnair about how I might get rid of all the Dark memorabilia hanging around my house. He suggested that I go to something called a 'car-boot sale', which is apparently something that muggles go in for in a big way. After Crucio-ing him as punishment for suggesting that I go anywhere near muggles out of choice, I found myself reviewing the situation. After all, I do need to get rid of these Dark items, and beggars can't be choosers. Perhaps I shall visit one of these 'car-boot sales'.

8th August, 1992 –

A truly horrific day. I had no idea that muggles subjected themselves to such barbarity under the name of 'fun'!

I went along to this 'car-boot sale', and discovered that it was actually an event where muggles sell each other their useless rubbish from the backs of their cars. I was surrounded by sweating, disgusting, thoroughly over excited muggles all day long. I feel so unclean.

I tried to sell my wares on, but I had no luck. A very sweaty, old and chronically obese man offered me something called 'ten quid' for a statuette of Slytherin strangling a muggle. I have no idea what a 'ten quid' is, and nor do I wish to know. I told him I would accept no less than 1000 galleons for an item of such rarity. When he pretended not to know what galleons were I cast a silent Avada Kedavra at him. I will not be mocked by muggles, of all people.

19th August, 1992 –

I took my useless son to Diagon Alley for a 'treat' today. I was hoping to lose him among the hordes of shoppers, but no such luck. He would insist on sticking to me like slime, depriving me of the opportunity to finally be rid of the little brat. However, it's probably for the best. The last time I 'lost' him Narcissa threatened to tell the ministry about my collection of muggle prisoners if I wouldn't go and find him and bring him home.

Unfortunately, today Draco and I bumped into that family of red-headed vermin in Flourish and Blotts. Arthur Weasley still seems to be angry about the time I slept with his wife. Honestly, poor people can be so overly-sensitive! He worked himself up into a ridiculous rage and in the end he actually committed violence against me. And to add insult to serious injury, in the ensuing scuffle I'm pretty sure he tried to cop a feel. A Malfoy both physically and sexually assaulted by a Weasel! To think that I would live to see the day! In revenge for his disgustingly underhanded sexual activities, I slipped the Dark Lord's diary into the cauldron of one of his thousands of offspring. I don't think it will actually cause them any harm, but when it comes to evil deeds it's the thought that counts, is it not?

5th September, 1992 –

Draco is almost unbelievably irritating and spoilt. All summer I have had to put up with his demands – 'Daddy, buy me a pony! Daddy, throw me a party! Daddy, I want some torture instruments just like yours.' In the end I brought his Quidditch team some new shiny brooms to stop him from whining. What is1500 galleons to a man like me, after all?

17th September, 1992 –

Vaguely uncomfortable moment this evening when the whore I was entertaining realised that I couldn't remember her name. For some reason she got unreasonably angry about it and walked out on me. I don't understand how I am supposed to meet such ridiculous demands. Women can be so unreasonable and clingy.

8th November, 1992 –

Where is that bloody house-elf? Honestly, my hands don't manicure themselves, you know!

7th December, 1992 –

I have managed to bully Draco into staying at Hogwarts for Christmas. I didn't want him to turn up and ruin the festive season for me yet again. It's bad enough that I had to put up with him for eleven years of my life, but now he insists on coming home every six weeks to impose his company on me. I wouldn't have this problem if my original plan to send him to Durmstrang had been followed through, but Narcissa simply wouldn't shut up about how much she'd 'miss' him.

I tell you, not a day goes by when I don't regret marrying that bloody woman.

18th December, 1992 –

My useless son has been writing to me, telling me about incidences at Hogwarts where students and animals are being petrified by the 'heir of Slytherin'. Apparently only Mudbloods and squibs are being attacked. I have absolutely no idea what's going on, but I think I might throw a sexy party in celebration of Dumbledore's no doubt impending sacking. I'll send out the invitations now. Ooh, I'll have to hire in some caterers.

21st December, 1992 –

Although I say so myself, I throw an excellent party. Last night went very well indeed, although I am almost certain that I felt Severus' hands roam onto my backside as we danced the conga. A potentially alarming situation, but I don't think I'll mention it to him out of respect for his feelings. He is, after all, my friend. I mean, I don't like him or respect him and he's so hideously ugly that I don't even like to look at him, but still…

25th December, 1992 –

Ah, Christmas day without Draco hanging around, whining about the presents he hasn't got rather than thanking me for the mountains of gifts he has actually received from me in my quest to buy his adoration. To top off a rather enjoyable day, I ordered that useless house-elf to slip a drug into my wife's wine so that I can be free when this eve's whore turns up. I may have to 'punish' her when she arrives – she is almost quarter of an hour late, and as the whole world knows, Malfoys don't like to be kept waiting.

Later

I can't believe it! I have been stood up! Me! A Malfoy! Stood up by a mere slut! All evening I have been sitting here, getting quietly drunk on the Christmas punch and all in all feeling needy and pathetic… ye gads, she's made me feel like some kind of… _woman!_ Oh, I shall not spare her! I shall have my revenge for this insult, make no mistake about that!

28th December, 1992 –

I have extracted swift vengeance on the whore that dared to stand me up. Whoever finds her body shall find a note attached to it reading – 'For the consideration of the victim's family: Anyone who stands up a Malfoy lives to regret it. I leave attached a dry cleaning bill to get the blood out of my robes, and I would be most grateful if you would make the payment in cash. Yours with the deepest sympathy, Malfoy (L).'

14th January, 1993 –

This morning I was very alarmed to find myself waking up in a state of undress in the same bed as Severus, who was in a similar state of disrobe. The trouble is I can't remember much about what happened last night, save that I invited him round to the manse for 'a few drinks'. He insists that I got plastered and that he just put me to bed, and I'm hoping to god that this is the case. But then, I wouldn't be surprised if he took advantage of me. He's always wanted me – not that I blame him, everybody does. He got very touchy when I suggested that he took advantage of me, though – to be precise, he called me a hemmaroid.

6th April, 1993 –

My idiotic wife has invited her niece Nymphadora Tonks round today in an attempt to bridge the gap that has evolved between her and Andromeda. Honestly. If anyone had asked _me_, which nobody ever does, they would discover that I don't _want _to put up with a snotty teenager all day, especially a half blood brat that insists on being known by her last name as a form of 'rebellion'.

Later.

What in the name of Slytherin happened to little Nymphadora? When she turned up at the mansion I was shocked to note that she's grown up into an extremely sexy little thing. She might be my niece, but that is of no real consequence. After all, my mother was also my aunt. Besides, young Nymphadora is a metamorphagus, and that aspect of her alone holds serious potential. She'll need a considerable amount of work, methinks. She carries a distinct lack of refinement. Her initial response to my advances went along the lines of 'You're my _uncle, _you dirty bastard!' The little tease. Nonetheless, I _will _have her – my ego shall allow nothing else.

8th May, 1993 –

Draco wrote to me today, informing me about how someone called 'Hermione Granger' has been petrified by the 'creature of the Chamber'. He was wittering on about how 'the time is right to force Dumbledore out of the school once and for all'. Sigh. Perhaps I should just have done with it and have the old idiot sacked. What harm could it do, after all?

21st May, 1993 –

Fudge is oh-so-tedious. He actually asked me for advice on how to get a woman today. It took all of my strength not to grab that bloody bowler hat of his and smack him round the face with it. I cannot stand bad fashion sense, especially in the old and the fat. They need to make an effort, seeing as they don't have anything else going for them.

30th May, 1993 –

Oh, for Merlin's sake! Apparently Dumbledore has been seen at Hogwarts again. Honestly, how am I supposed to carry out my evil schemes effectively if people won't play along with me? I'm going to have to go down there and remind the old idiot just who stokes the Hogwarts fire these days.

Later

It is beyond comprehension. I, Lucius Malfoy, have been sacked from the Hogwarts Board of Governors. Not only that, but I was thrown down the stairs by my own house elf, whom that bloody Potter brat tricked me into freeing. It is a dark day for the Malfoys when one of our number is not only sacked from a position of power and privilege but is also publicly humiliated at the hands of a house-elf so irritating and hideously ugly that it should have been drowned at birth.

It is not to be borne.

Oh no, I _shall _have my revenge. I shall wreak terrible vengeance on not only the elf, but also Potter, that damned Dumbledore and every last member of the governing body who informed the senile old fool that I, ah, _persuaded _them to vote for his suspension. Anyone who makes it onto Lucius Malfoy's list of enemies lives to sorely regret it.

5th June, 1993 –

I don't know how I came to rely so heavily upon the house-elf. I shall just learn how to wash clothes myself. I mean, how hard can it be, really?

Later.

How in the name of Salazar's noble backside do muggles and the wizarding poor manage without servants? I have flooded the entire ground floor of the mansion and ruined half my wardrobe while trying to wash my own clothes. I find myself feeling a strange emotion deep within my chest. At first I put it down to indigestion, but now I have been forced to conclude that I might… _miss _the house-elf. I grew quite attached to it over the years, in a way – in the manner of how one might grow attached to a prisoner or someone who has abused you.


End file.
